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Teen Ink Forums

Mini Marvel School Roleplay

((I'm going to post in a bit, but I just wanted to clarify- are we starting off with everyone in their dorms, asleep? Or before that? I just wanted to make sure because James's post is going to be super long for his nightmare. :P))

Dinner, for the most part, had been rather uneventful for the rest of the evening. It was a shame, but he supposed that he had had enough entertainment in that one sitting for a whole week. Although, Abreas hadn't done anything yet to suggest that he was going to get back at James for the spilled dressing, but that didn't mean anything, as James was sure that it was in his mind. But it was okay. James was pretty confident that he could send a dizzying wave of calm towards Abreas before he could pull any funny moves.

As it were, the moods of the room were considerably lighter than they were before. James swung his bare feet idly from his position perched on a randomly picked upper bunkbed, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together. His blue eyes were narrowed and shrewd. Tristan was one of the causes. Newly healed, he was incredibly jovial, although James suspected the mood to fade away quickly. Tristan was never the sort of hold on to those sorts of feelings.

At any rate, James had made sure he was the first to be washed up for bed, purely so he could spend some time keeping an observational eye on his new roommates- particularly Abreas and Reve, of whom he really didn't know all that much about. "So," James declared after a while, "What's the deal with sleeping arrangements?"

((I hope this works. ^^ Sorry it's so short, I'm not allowed of the computer right now, so I had to cut it off a bit.))

Thankfully, they managed to get to dinner and have at least some of it. However, Abreas was oddly quiet, though De could feel his gaze from time to time. De ignored it as usual, staying quiet. Because really, he was kind of freaking out, if internally.

Mostly because his crush towards Tristan had been thrown out for everyone to know, and Amedeus acted like..he didn't care. Of course, James was to blame for that, but De couldn't even find it in him to even be mad at the boy. No, that wouldn't do anything. All Amedeus felt like was curling up in a small ba.ll and then go to sleep.

However, when they got back to their dorms, De didn't do that. Naturally, he kept a close tabs on Tristan, even if he knew everntually he would have to leave him alone at some point. Reve was a helpful buffer, keeping up a constant soft rate of chatter. He even answered James's question right off the bat.

"I think I should sleep on a buttom bunk." He declared, nodding decisively. Amedeus himself was sitting--if somewhat tensely--on the bottom bunk right below James, and Reve promptly sat beside him. De blinked, taken off guard by his...lack of personal space. Perhaps in was a French thing...

"I sleep by the door." Abreas cut through smoothly, nodding over the the bed closest to the door. "You're welcome to sleep above me, De De. I wouldn't want you sneaking into anyone else's bed." His eyes gleamed with malice as his gaze flicked over towards Tristan purposely, before De scowled, flushing despite himself. Half with anger, half with embarassment. Because he knew Tristan was uncomfortable with his feelings, and Abrea's casual reference to his feelings no doubt made it even worse.

"Oh, two people could hardly fit on these beds." Reve interposed, wrinkling his nose in a slight scoff. Abreas's dark gaze brored into the boy, flat.

"Once again, your daftness exceeds my expectations, Reve." Abreas replied, though Reve seemed to be distracted at the compartment by the bunk.

"How fascinating," He murmured under his breath, while Amedeus stood up with a slight smirk. Reve sure made up for Zeke's presence, providing humor if in a somewhat more light form.

"I'll sleep right here." De quielty stated, sitting down on the bottom bunk across from Reve. He didn't know where Tristan would chose to sleep, though in the back of his head, De hoped not too far away. Just out of safety concerns, really.

Tristan was finding that it was getting more and more difficult to maintain a positive attitude. Sure, he was healed and everything, but he could feel negativity just seeping through the air. Reve was the only one who didn't seem affected. Amedeus appeared glum, even after going through a healing with Amelia, and no one ever knew what James was thinking about anyways so he just assumed it wasn't anything pleasant.

And them there was Abreas, and Tristan knew that he never wanted him to be particularly happy, in fear of what it would take to make it so. During everyone's conversations, Tristan floated around the room somewhat awkwardly, not really knowing what to do with himself. If he were back home, at the school, he would be up, with Zeke talking aimlessly to him, or he'd be doing homework or reading- none of which he could do here.

It was kind of unsettling, to be wrenched away from all forms of routine and established comforts. As Abreas jabbed at Amedeus, Tristan colored slightly at his reference, and turned away uncomfortably, even though he knew that sowing discomfort and embarrassment and anger was one of Abreas's many goals. If not a goal, then a hobby.

When the talking had petered out, Tristan found that he had yet to pick a bed to sleep in. Naturally, he didn't want to be anywhere near Abreas, but with only four bunkbeds in the room, that wasn't given much room. He ended up sitting quietly of the bottom bunk next to Amedeus's bed, mostly because he was stubbornly afraid of heights, even so much as the top bunk. Just... too many possibilities for falling. "I'll sleep here, I suppose," he spoke up, falling to his side and rolling onto his back, staring at the bottom of the top bunk, and feeling a left over thrill that doing such actions didn't illicit pain from his previous wounds.

James, meanwhile on the bed over Reve's was inwardly cheering a bit. If he had to pick anyone to sleep on the bunk beneath him, it would be the French dude with the lovely moods. He couldn't imagine De, or even God forbid, Abreas. How wretchedly uncomfortable those smells would be. "Alright," he declared, flopping backwards, "We have to get up at some ridiculous hour, is that right? I don't know about you folks, but I'm going to sleep," James tilted his head in Abreas's direction, a curls splayed out on the pillow and in his face. He raised a slender eyebrow. "Unless our lovely Commander some dreadfully pertinent information and or task that must be doled out before we sleep."

It was weird. Zeke wasn't going to lie to himself. It was weird, not sleeping in the room with Tristan when he had done so for at least five years straight, give or take the few times he had slipped into Sera's room in his younger years or last night, with Erin. Just thinking about it made his stomach sour, and Zeke glanced over experimentally at Sam.

The guy was...quiet. Like Tristan. But also...indifferent. Not like Tristan, who might have rarely showed emotion, but he at least showed emotion. Sam, on the other hand, seemed to refrain from doing anything but that. It was unsettling, yet interesting at the same time. Because despite the dude's detached demeanor, he was nice. Zeke knew that much.

So, after bidding the ladies a goodbye (Zeke even went as far as giving Sera a hug, genuine, though with the obvious intent of making it clear that he was still "upset" with Erin) Zeke found himself in a similiar room with Sam. Just him and Sam. Faintly, he wondered how Tristan and De were holding up, rooming with the lovely pair of Abreas and James.

At least they got Reve. He thought, before glancing over at the clock. It was almost ten o'cock, and no doubt, they would have to wake up at some unholy hour. Zeke sighed, before he began to take off his shirt.

It was out of habit, of course. In Italy, he was so used to just sleeping in his underwear, since it got so hot and sticky. He paused halfway, remembering in his half mind of sleepiness and routine that he wasn't rooming with Tristan anymore. He was rooming with Sam.

"Oh, ah..."Zeke was in between of fully wiggling off his plain shirt he was provided, revealing half of his bronze torso as his elbows were crunched up in the sleeves of his shirt. "You don't mind, do you?" He had enough sense to look somewhat sheepish, though remained patient for an answer. Might as well get it over with, right? After all, when he first came to America, stri.pp.ing was considered somewhat...what was that word?...taboo.

It was weird. Zeke wasn't going to lie to himself. It was weird, not sleeping in the same room as Tristan when he had done so for at least the oast five years, give or take the few times he had slipped into Sera's room in his tounger years or last night, with ERin. Just thinking about it made his stomach flip uncomfortably, and Zeke glanced over experimentally at Sam.

The guy was...quiet. Like Tristan. But also...indifferent. Not like Tristan, who might have rarely showed emotion, but at least showed emotion. Sam, on the other hand, seemed to refrain from doing just that. It was unsettling, mostly because he seemed to carry a kind of melancholy with him in his eyes as well. The kind of look that was familiar, yet Zeke couldn't identify. Yet, despite the dude's detached demeanor, he was nice. Zeke knew that much.

So after bidding the ladies goodbye (Zeke even went as far as giving Sera a hug, genuine despite the intentions to solidify how he was still "upset" with Erin) Zeke found himself in a similar room with Sam. Just him and quiet Sam. Not a Tristan quiet, not a De quiet, but a quiet entirely his own. Faintly, he wondered how Tristan and De were holding up, rooming with the lovely pair of Abreas and James.

At least they got Reve. He thought, before glancing at the clock. It was almost ten o'clock, and no doubt, they would have to wake up at some unholy hour in the morning. Zeke yawned, before he began to take his shirt off.

It was out of habit, of course. In Italy, he was so used to sleeping in his un.der.w.ear, since it got so hot and sticky in the nights. He paused halfway, remembering his his half mind of sleepiness and routine that he wasn't with Tristan anymore. He was with Sam.

"Oh, ahh..." Zeke was in between fully wiggling off his palin shirt that he was provided with, revealing half of his bronze torso as his elbows were crunched up in the sleevs of his shirt. "You don't mind, do you?" He had enough sense to look somewhat sheepish, the remained patient for an answer. Might as well get it over with, right? After all, when he first came to America, st.ri.p.ping was considered...what was the word?...ta.b.o.o.

Sam had only bothered to say goodnight to Juliet, before retreating to the room that he was sharing with Zeke. It was noisy, when he had left (Nissa and Erin had been bickering about something, but about what, he didn't really care to listen and find out), and the quiet of his and Zeke's room was preferred, even if slightly awkward. Sharing a room with him would be kind of awkward for just about anyone, he figured, as he was completely aware he wasn't of the approachable type. Maybe everyone but Reve.

He was laying on his back on a randomly chosen bottom bunk, half lost in thought and the other half just watching. The part of his mind lost in thought was carefully skirting around any sensitive topics in a well practiced dance, which was steadily slowing down as sleep glazed his mind. It had been a long day, and he closed his eyes in a long drawn out blink, and when he finally opened them, he was quite startled to see Zeke undressing.

Sam grew still- his way of showing surprise, until a rush of air escaped him that could possibly be taken as a snort. At least Zeke was being considerate, he supposed. Even though he had grown up with an older sister, he had gone to a public school before all this, and one couldn't do that and maintain serious people issues.

"Nah, you're fine," Sam allowed, slightly amused by Zeke's considerations, "Nothing ever really bothers me, so don't feel the need to ask me," he added thoughtfully. Or at least, he made a point to not let anything bother him. Sam pushed himself up onto his elbows. "I do have one quick favor though. Could you sleep on a bottom bunk? I have... nightmares sometimes. So it's just a sort of safety precaution," he added, seeing all too easily how with a bit of bad luck Zeke could roll right off of a top bunk and break his clavicle or something.

Amedeus released a sigh that he hadn't realized that he was holding. Tristan had chosen a realitively close spot, which comforted De. Just in case anything would happen, he would know right where to go and save him or something. He could feel Tristan lay on his bed, and De took off his shoes and did the same thing, getting situated under the thin blankets. Because James was right; they would have to wake up early, and it would not be fun. Not at all.

"Only on Tuesdays, my quizzical pupil." Abreas replied back in a voice that was edged with a sharp tone of sarcasm. De could imagine his brother's equally pointy grin, the glint of his black eyes. The first night back, and De was already experiencing his brother's face behind closed eyelids. Wonderful.

"Good thing it's a Sunday then, right?" Reve interposed cheerfully, easily snuggling under the covers as Amedeus glanced over at him. He was still bright eyed and seemed to emanate energy, however, and De had a feeling Reve would not be getting too much sleep tonight. Abreas clicked his tongue, beforehe sighed, stretching and yawning. It turns out that even sadists could get tired...

"Alright. Enough talk. Lights out, and good night. Don't let the bed bugs bite." He smiled a bit at that part, De saw, as if there really were bed bugs. Amedeus rolled his eyes as he turned over, willing for sleep to come easy and quick.

James turned over on his side, not returning any of the 'good nights' people exchanged. He just wanted to catch up on rest in preparation for tomorrow, but unfortunately, it didn't seem like that was an option. James hadn't had a nightmare since his first day at Marvel School. Maybe it was the sudden change in events, the new living quarters, the kind of anxious atmosphere that inhabited a room whenever Abreas was in it, James didn't really know. He didn't know, and he didn't particularly care, because all that mattered was the nightmare itself, flinging him unwillingly back into the past almost as soon as the conversation around him faded.

He was ten, and standing out in the middle of a street. The kind of street that you never walked through at night without fear of getting mugged or something, with its dilapidated ramshackle buildings that could hardly be called houses. James knew the place as home. The sky was a sheet of grey, just as James had remembered it to be. He knew the events following, but still, he couldn't force himself to wake up, or to run in the opposite direction.

The sound of ambulance sirens cut through the air all too clearly, and James's gaze was forced past his dirty bare feet, to the creeping red stain on the road, the twisted mangled limbs of Joseph, his older brother. James could almost hear the sounds of the screeching tires, the muffled thump as the car had sped away. Don't play in the street, they always told you. I wasn't playing. I was running, I was hiding.

In his dream, James couldn't tear his eyes away from the body, not until he heard muffled shouting emerge from dirty broken down house in front of him- his home. His mother appeared- and James didn't know if it was the nightmare itself, warping her into a much more intimidating figure, or if that was truly how he remembered her. He didn't know, he did his absolute best to not think of her at any given time. < br> The nightmare continued along the tracks of his memory, despite James's best attempts to pull himself from it. And was that - was that fear? Was that fear beginning to flutter in his chest? It couldn't be, James was never truly afraid. But his dream self, his ten year old self didn't know anything but fear. His mother was shouting, she was running towards him, towards Joseph, and all James did was stand there, when he should've been running a long time ago.

"You killed him. You killed him!" she was shouting, half incoherently, crouched by the body, a certain unfocused look to her eyes. James knew that if he stepped closer, she would stink of liquor. He was alarmed to find that his dream self was crying, tears streaking down his somewhat grimy face. "I swear I didn't! He got hit by himself, I swear!" Fear choked his words, and sobs died in his throat, as he caught the glint in her eye. That was when he finally gained control of his legs, and he ran, straight to his house, the only place he really knew, although he should've known it would afford no safety.

Up the porch step he pounded, and he could hear shouting and curses behind him. The boards were weak and half eaten away, and one gave away under his pounding feet, one leg disappearing into a splintered hole, his head smacking against the step above him. He could taste blood in his mouth, and a flurry of panicked adrenaline pulsed through him, and he wrenched his leg free, small rivulets of red carving across his skin. He continued, crashing through the door. Seconds later, he heard the door crash open again, slamming against the wall, the hinges squealing.

"You abnormal little freak!" The words chased him as he ran blindly up the stairs. "I betchu killed Steven, too! First Steven, then Joey-" Steven, who had gotten shot months before, robbing an upperclass apartment. James had been at school. But it was always his fault, nonetheless. "I didn't do it!" He sobbed, careening into the first room he came to. Joseph's room. There was a baseball bat by the door. James grabbed it, and dropped to the ground, under the bed, curling into the darkness as if it could protect him.

The door was flung open as soon as he rolled under the bed, the end of the bat sticking out the slightest bit. James held breath. His mother paused, and without warning she dropped, and grabbed the edge of the bat peeking out out from under the bed. It was wrenched from James's grasp, and without thinking, James's hand shot out to retrieve it. A foot came down, smashing into his fingers, and James cried out as he felt bones snap.

It's just a dream. Just a nightmare. Just a memory, he repeated as a mantra inside of his head, as he pushed himself against the wall, cradling his hand, tears from his ten year old self splashing down his cheeks. In his actual bed at the Institution, James whimpered, his thin sheets wrapped tight around him. Just a dream, just a nightmare, just a memory.

Reve knew he wasn't going to get to sleep. He knew it the moment he snuggled down under the covers, staring absently at the bunk in front of him. For now, he would wait. And wait he could do. Reve actually had a song stuck in his head (some annoying tune that began to turn into something in between the melody of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" and "Here Comes the Bride") that he played along in his head. The first to fall asleep was Amedeus, snoring softly against his pillow.

It was very funny, to see people as they fell asleep. Mostly because they suddenly seemed to emnate this energy of...asleepness. That's what Reve called it, anyways. The person would become this fuzzy sort of outline, as if they were a hologram. Of course, Reve knew that wasn't what others saw. But it was what Reve saw, which was interesting. Even Abreas fell asleep, granted he was the last one to do so.

Maybe he wanted to outlast me. Reve thought faintly to himself, amused despite the fact it was Abreas. It was no surprise that he wasn't dreaming of anything. All that projected from his side of them room was a cloud of nothingness, tinged with an angry red. De, however, seemed to dreaming of a lot of things. Memories flipped like a slideshow, flickering in and out of focus. The face of a kind woman, a younger version of Abreas snickering, De feeling sick inside his stomach as he prepared to talk to Tristan--

Reve stopped watching then. He wasn't one to pry, and he tried very hard to block out the images skirting around his vision. Amedeus deserved to dream in quiet. Besides, not all dreaming was like that. Most of the time, Reve knew, people dreamed the most vividly during their REM, or rapid eye movement. If Reve was lucky, someone's fascinating dreams would play on for a solid hour, before it would blink away as if an old projection, replaced by drowsy colors or occasional sounds.

Even Tristan seemed to be dreaming of something, though Reve couldn't make any sense of it. Only a blur of mixed hues, the sensation of floating before it would simmer down to the blackness that indicated heavy, tired sleep. Reve sighed softly to himself, wondering in the world what James was dreaming. He couldn't see the boy above him, though he did hear a prominant whimper. It was enough to make Reve's eyes furrow, before he yawned widely.

A red clock read midnight in bright numbers, illuminating Reve's face with a thin layer of glowing crimson. Typical, that I get to feel sleepy at midnight, I suppose. Which would be perfect. Because Reve didn't feel like sleeping; he felt like dreamwalking.

Slowly, Reve let his eyes close. Gently, he turned around on his side, letting slumber slide into his mind. He had finally figured out a sure way to find sleep in moments like this; to think of sleep. It seemed simple enough, and when Reve really concentrated, he could succeed. Like now.

It was a curious feeling, to dreamwalk. Reve suddenly was not asleep. He was outside of himself, gazing at his solid form that was asleep on his bed. Reve smiled to himself, holding out his hand. It was translucent, see through as if he were a ghost. Sometimes Reve felt like one, especially in such an ethereal form like this. Plus, he could float, so there was that, too.

He glance above him to see James's dream, projected out in front of him like some futuristic holograph. And it was more of a nightmare, than anything else. Expermentally, Reve floated higher, his feet leaving the ground. He hadn't had much practive dreamwalking, because it was so different from when he was awake. Instead of feeling made of cells and bones, Reve felt made of feathers and aire bubbles. As it was, he was struggling to stay upright as he hovered in midair. He was a runner, not a gymnist who could balance with anything to balance on. He huffed slightly at the cumbersome action, before he collided within the dream itself.

That's when it really got interesting. Walking into a dream was very much like walking through a waterfall. Cold, powerful, and a little disorienting. Reve's theory behind the sensation was because you were crossing the bridge between conciousness and fatasy, the place where your brain replayed memories or images that would constantly stay in a little stack at the back of your mind. Reve shook his head as his feet landed on solid ground, and he was greeted by a woman screaming.

The thing about being in a dream, you were invisible until you wanted to be seen. Reve had discovered this in a most uncomfortable way during an experience at summer camp once, where he had accidently somehow intruded on a classmate's dream of making out with their instructer. Reve, naturally at the age of twelve, tried to inform them of his presence, until finally he reappeared, which ended up in his classmate waking up and Reve's dream-self swirling right back into his body with a startling force.

So for the time being, Reve was unnoticed. The woman smelled of a.l.co.h.o.l and was going on about something in quite a livid fasion. It was only when Reve went up to her closely was that he seemed to recognize the sneer of her mouth, and the unmistakable blonde hair.

"James's mother." Reve spoke outloud to himself, raising a brow. No wonder the boy was generally dreadful. He had this woman as his mother, who was in obvious shape to be one. Which only lead to Reve leaning down, face to face with a terrified young James. Naturally, Reve's face softened.

He had never seen James look so vulnerable. It was not something Reve ever wanted to see, because it obvious the little boy was not only afraid, but he was hurting, too. Hurting bad. Reve willed himself to become visible--though only to James---and stared at him levelally.

"James, do you want to go for some coffee?" The question was simple enough, and Reve spoke softly, as if the crumpled boy in front of him was an injured animal. It was hard to see all the details under the bed, which smelled awful as well. Come to think of it, the whole house was in dreadful shape, reeking of neglect and misuse. "We don't have to stay here, you know. Your mother is not acting very pleasant, if you don't mind me saying." He nodded his head respectfuly, before holding out a sure hand.

[ugh didn't let me post Reve's super long post >.< I'll repost it in a bit or maybe tomorrow lol it was long. Should of proof read it before I clicked reply. Anyways, here's Zekes, though :) ]

Zeke

For a second, Zeke thought a sudden bout of bad luck was going to crash down upon him at Sam's reaction. A deadly kind of still came over him, reminded Zeke of a rabbit, before he snorted softly and Zeke relaxed marginally. Looks like lightening won't strike me down today. He wryly thought, before fullly disposing his shirt and tossing it over in the corner. It was a relief, to at least be able to fall into some old habits. In a way, it was kind of good, that he and Sam didn't have to room with either of the horrible leaders.

"Well, if not much bothers you, I hope you don't mind that I'm not the neatest." Zeke admitted, unabashed as he laid across the way on the bunk bed across from them, his palms behind his head with his elbows in a comfortable "v" position. Even his armpit hairs had a golden hue to them. He sniffed at them and wrinkled his nose. Maybe he would have to take a shower before bed...

"Huh? Nightmares?" Zeke flickered his green eyes over towards Sam, his arms lowering as he suddenly sat up. He stared at him a moment, before blinking and shrugging. "Oh bottom bunk is cool. Yeah, that's fine." Zeke nodded, shrugging again, even if he couldn't help but to wonder what in the world Sam would have nightmares about.

Everyone has nightmares. Zeke remembered his foster mom telling him that one night, when he had first came to America and woke her up sobbing about one that involved drowning in the Houston river. Zeke then stood up, glancing down at Sam still, his expression carefully trained.

"I have them too." He finally said, before he rubbed the back of his neck, smiling wryly. "Real bad sometimes. So ah...don't freak out if you like find me in the corner a few mornings from now, muttering in Italian." Zeke explained, his words light, but eyes serious. Because he didn't know what he would do if he would have to room with a person who viewed him as a sort of freak, ill with PTSD or something. He then swallowed, beginning to walk over to the bathroom.

"I'm gunna take a quick shower, okay?" He informed, before pausing at the door, his shirt now his his hand."Sweet dreams, then?" Zeke added, offering a smile before he closed the door behind him, sliding to the ground and wondering how in the world he would get through this whole entire thing.

Sam's eyes closed a little more. "Like I said, I'm perfectly fine. 'Sides, I'm not exactly a neat freak., you can be sure of that." He grew quiet, thinking a little morosely of his home, his family. He didn't even know how long he had been gone, not for sure. A few days, maybe? Were his parents worried? Were they looking for him? When did they notice he was gone?

When he had been kidnapped, things had been rocky in his household. His parents had been on the edge of divorce, arguing late into the night every evening. It was mostly his fault, he knew. A vicious cycle created by his moods. Maybe it was for the better than he was here, at the Institution. Maybe his parents would be able to make amends without their son unconsciously tearing them apart with abilities he couldn't begin to understand or control.

I left them alone, though. I took away Steph, and now I've disappeared. Some son.

Sam rolled over onto his side, fighting to drive his thoughts away. Zeke served to help, his voice distracting. "No problem... Same goes for me, alright?" he swallowed as he made sure. It seemed like Zeke's cheerful and joking exterior might be hiding something truly nightmare worthy, but Sam knew more than anyone else not to pry. He nodded vaguely into his pillow, his eyes finally drifting close. "Yeah, sweet dreams," he muttered, not bitterly, but sounding as if it were a sort of hope, a wish to come true.

Reve knew he wouldn't fall asleep as soon as he snuggled undeneath his blankets. Insomnia was a funny thing, he thought. Some nights he could fall into slumber as soon as he hit his pillow, and other nights he would unintentionally pull an all nighter. It wasn't that Reve cared; sometimes it got annoying, or bothersome, but he was too used to it all really know any different. So, as expected, he waited patiently, staring at the bottom on the top bunk where James's la.id.

De was the first one to fall sleep, though that didn't surprise Reve himself. His dream projected across from him, as if it was from an old movie projector. Faces flickered by in flashes, one of a kind lady, to one of Abreas teasing him laughing, to one of Tristan--De tossed and turned.

Reve averted his eyes then. He wasn't one to pry, and it was not his place to do so. Because sometimes, if he wasn't careful enough, he'd be so absorbed into watching a dream, he'd get su.cked right into it, which was startling yet exhilarating all at once. That hadn't happened in a while; the older Reve got, the easier it was to control, it seemed.

Tristan was the next one to fall under the spell of slumber, though he didn't dream right away. Actually, most of the time, Reve didn't get to see drawn out actual dreams, since those tended to happen during rapid eye movement. If he was lucky, he'd get an hour's worth of a comprehensible dream, but most of the time it was a blur and swish of colors, vauge feelings. Tristan's was very much like that, and Reve noted that in his head before finally, Abreas fell asleep.

You knew when someone fell asleep immediately. Most could pinpoint it with the relaxation of the shoulders, the slack features of the face. But Reve noticed something more: a glow. A gentle glow that seemed to outline the person asleep, signifying that the mind has crossed over to that blurry line of unconsiousness and awakeness. Reve assumed that Abreas had been trying to stay awake longer than him, which nine out of ten times was useless. The boy wasn't dreaming of anything, of course. Just a blank, eerie blackness, tinged with red. Unsettling for Reve himself, who had glanced at the clock to see that it was midnight. The red numbers painted Reve with a sheen of crimson, and he smirked faintly.

How fitting, that I start to feel tired around midnight. He mused interanally. Reve then yawned widely, before turning on his side. Then, he heard a soft sound. Reve let his eyes flicker open momentarily, before realizing that it had come from above. From James. He hadn't seen what the boy had been dreaming--or perhaps, in his response, a nightmare--though the whimper was enough to elicit some concern in Reve. He let his eyes closed, and willed himself to find sleep. To grasp onto it and hold on tightly, not to let go until he crossed the other side. And, it worked. Thinking of sleep when trying to get to sleep was a very good methed for Reve.

Abruptly, Reve was outside of himself. Out of all the curious things he would see, dreamwalking was the most curious of them all. Reve felt like a ghost, staring at his physical sleeping form. Now, he was in his "dream self", as he called it. Reve held out his hand to see that it was translucent, and he wiggled his fingers experimentally. The air around him shimmered, and he took in a deep breath, marveling at it for a moment, before he glanced up.

James's dream was outstretched in front of him, a giant hologram of what he was dreaming. Which...wasn't pleasant. James knew it was a nightmare right away. All nightmares gave off a dirty brown aura, whatever it was. Carefully, Reve began to float. It was a difficult skill he had not yet mastered yet. He was a runner, not a gymnast who could balance on literally nothing. Instead of feeling like he was made out of bones and skin, he felt like he was made of feathers and air. He wiggled uncertaintly in the air, before he eventually traveled into James's head.

Crossing into a dream was akin to crossing a waterfall. Cold, shocking, and core shaking. Reve's theory behind this was because dreams were only meant for the dreamer, and the power behind them was so transcendent, the feeling was justified. Reve shook his head to steady himself, before he took in his surroundings.

He was in a horrible house. Horrible as in, everything was falling apart. It screamed of neglect and abuse, whereas a woman seemed to be shrieking at someone underneath a bed. Undoubtedly, it was a boy's room. The lighting was dim, and Reve made his way closer.

The thing about watching a dream was that you got to experience was the dreamer was dreaming. Scents, sights, feelings. Reve was usually detached from the last one, though once or twice, he had been caught up in such a vivid dream, he felt has if it were his own. However, he had a certain advantage. Reve could chose when to be visible within this Dream Realm of his. He had discovered this in an uncomfortable way back in middle school summer camp, where he had accidently got pulled into a classmate's dream about kissing their teacher. Reve had tried to note them of his presence, before it dawned on him that they couldn't see him unless he wanted to be seen. So, naturally, he bent down to exaimine who was exactly under the bed, hidden from the loud and foul smeling woman.

The boy he saw crunched under the bed was scared. He was dirty also, and although the lighting was less than the dimmed out lights, Reve sensed that he was injured. And upon closer exaimination, Reve blinked several times to realize it was James. James. Utterly vulnerable looking, with wide eyes. Epiphanies of his behavior dawned on Reve, though he pushed them aside for later.

"James." Reve spoke gently, appearing for him, yet for not his mother. Because it was obviously his mother, with her stringy blonde curls and sneer of her mouth. "James, would you like to get out of here? Perhaps for some coffee." The offer was simple, though he spoke as if he were speaking to a injured animal as he offered his hand. "Your mother is being rather dreadful, if you don't mind me saying." He added, giving a little smile.

James was about to give up fighting his nightmare when a shocking developement occurred. Reve's appearance was shocking and alien in his nightmare of a memory. So startling, in fact, that he was finally able to jerk himself out of his frame of mind. I'm not a scared little ten year old. I'm a powerful fifteen year old mutant. Almost sixteen. Were I in this situation today, I would not cower under the bed like a child.

Now that his mind had pushed himself out of the nightmare, out of the fear, James was left to wonder- how the h.ell was Reve in his dream? His mutant power, it had to be. James didn't know whether to be relieved that he had made an appearance, or mortified that he had walked in on a terrifyingly revealing nightmare of his. Something of which James himself had nigh on forgotten, having so stubbornly refused to think of it for years.

His mother was still shouting, he was aware, but she didn't seem to notice Reve. Of course not, she was a figment of his imagination. At first, he was afraid of what would happen if he accepted Reve's hand. Would the memory alter- would she attack him? Of course not, he couldn't be silly. He had to think logically. But for once, James was finding it very very difficult to think logically. It had been too long since he had a fear like this flutter in his heart.

Hesitantly, James uncurled, the nightmare flickering as if protesting this change in events. This isn't supposed to happen, his mind seemed to be saying. James tentatively reached for Reve's hand, finding that his hand no longer hurt, although through his eyes, the last three fingers on his right hand were still bent a strange way.

"Some... some coffee sounds fantastic," James managed, his voice normal, if a bit quavery. He couldn't deny that he was relieved that hen-year-old's voice had disappeared. Clasping Reve's hand was strange, in this dream realm. Like he was holding on to something, but he wasn't at the same time. He pulled himself out from under Joseph's bed, still disheveled, his face caged and a little bit fearful, still, containing traces of wariness. He couldn't sense emotions in the dream world, he found, so he felt somewhat suspicious of Reve's intentions, despite his calming voice.

"Yeah," James replied, his voice cracking slightly, giving a tense look at his dreamt up mother, with her lank hair, and those hard, hard eyes. The dream felt surreal at that moment, adjusting to the change. "Yeah, rather dreadful about covers it." James found he couldn't look at Reve, feeling a rush of mortification as he stood fully. This.... was not something anyone should see, let alone some stranger on his team.

( Reve's power is definately my favorite :) And I was thinking that Reve is the only one who can travel within the dreams, so in order to collect everyone, he has to be the one to "deliver" them, so to speak. Is that okay? )

Reve

Reve never knew James could look so...fearful. He was used to the constant layer of arrogance on his face, more than this newfound terror mixed with hesitance. It made Reve frown considerably, watching as James began to ripple into his age. He grew a little bit more, but it didn't change the fact that he looked scared. Scared and young.

"No worries." Reve shrugged it off, noticing that the background of James's nightmare was beginning to flicker away hesitantly at James's state of mind. Reve found that when visiting, that person really had the most control over their dream, whereas Reve himself was just a visitor of some sort.

"C'mon. Let's get out of here, yes?" He offered, pulling him along by the hand, before pausing slightly, as if he was struggling to remember somethig. "Oh. Oh yes, that's right." He murmured, nodding to himself as he let go of James's hand, clapping slgihtly. Two cups of coffee, lidded and warm, appeared in the air, floating myseteriously in front of Reve himself, who gave a crooked smile over at James.

"Coffee." He stated, easily grabbing a cup and handing it to James, before he took the solitary one in his own hand. "Be careful on stepping out of your dream, though." Reve warned, taking an experimental sip. It had been a while since he had made things appear within the Dream Realm, so it was always safe to taste test anything. One time Reve made the mistake of making an apple appear, only to realize it was rotten halfway into eating it. He woke up with a stomach ache. Oddly enough, however, in that same experience, he had gotten scratched on the face, only to wake up with no scratch in the first place. Yes, the Dream Realm was very sporadic, at best.

"It's tricky, too." Reve continued to explain, as if he hadn't just witnessed one of James's deepest, darkest memories. It was best that way. "Actually...we might want to have coffee after we get out." He chuckled a little bashfully, smiling with a tint of embarassment as he held out his hand to recieve James's coffee cup.

((Oh yeah, that sounds like a plan. :) I so cannot wait for Zeke and Erin to be together, without their ploy. ^^))

James

James was still trying to wrap his mind around the bizarreness of the situation. Reve's calm- cheerful even- demeanor was baffling and strange. James accepted the coffee numbly, kind of startled to find that he could feel the warmth, as though he were actually holding a cup of warm coffee. Stranger and stranger. James had the bizarre notion that this was all part of a weird dream still, but no, it didn't make any sense if he was dreaming of Reve giving him coffee.

James didn't return Reve's smile, but sniffed suspiciously at the coffe, which did in fact smell like the real deal. "I can see," he said drily, some of his old edge returning to his voice. He crinkled his nose, turning his attention away from the coffe that Reve had conjured. "Out of my dream-?" He repeated, "If we're out of my dream, then where would we be?"

James handed back the cup, and wrapped his arms around himself. Of course, he wasn't exactly begging to remain in his nightmare, but where did one go when they were sleeping and not dreaming? "If I'm dreaming, and you're here- doesn't that mean you're inside my head?" he said, somewhat sharply. The prospect of anyone seeing anything inside his head was not a pleasant idea for James.

"Can you see anything else besides the dream?" He had to clarify, at least. James's recent brush with forgotten memories did nothing to improve his manners, at any rate.

(( Oh me too! :) I can just already imagine them reuniting, and then Sera feeling bittersweet at it all...awh, poor thing :( I seriously love her, and can totally relate to her whole "I have a crush on a boy who is in love with someone else" deal. ))

Reve

"Oh, you're getting all philisophical on me now, James." Reve good naturedly teased, glady taking his coffee and his own. He set them up in the air, where they floated once more, before Reve clapped and they vanished. That's what was cool with his powers. He had read of magic--well, Harry Potter, really--and had always thought it was curious that there had to be an actual real thing before transporting it somewhere. In this Dream Realm, however, where the foundations were the blurred lines of imagination, Reve literally just thought of something and it appeared. It didn't have to be real, because nothing in the Dream Realm was real, unless you believed it to be, whcich was all really beautiful in itself. Reve was so lost in thought, he hadn't realized that James's had been asking him questions, before his sharp tone seemed to pluck Reve out of his own thoughts.

"Oh, no." Reve absently reassured, before screwing up his lips quizzically."Well, I don't think so. Technically, I could explore every dream you have had, though that would be an aswfully long and cumbersome process, don't you think?" He asked, shrugging, before he smiled, and answered gave a delayed response to his previous question.

"Oh yes. Because if you're asleep and not dreaming, where are you, right?" Reve mused, getting an almost faroff look in his eyes. "Even I can't really answer that question, James, though I am flattered that you think I can." He chuckled, even though if he knew James probably didn't mean the question in the form of a subtle compliment. It was just best to take things in more better than they actually were. "I call it the Dream Realm myself. You could call it Narnia, if you like. The place between dreams and asleepness." He gave an airy wave of his hand, before he straightened, shaking his head.

"Alright, as much as love chatting with you James," And Reve really met this, offering him a fleeting grin,"We really should go get the others. First, Amedeus and Tristan. Then my sister, and Sera. And finally, Samuel and Zeke. Naturally we'll all meet the Dream Realm--I doubt any of you can ever leave your dreams without someone like me, powered the way I am, actually--and we can discuss our plans." He then paused, giving James a curious look, before a soft, buttery smile spread on his lips.

"Why, yes. I guess I am in your head, James." He exclaimed, chuckling slightly at this as well. It was an amusing thought to Reve, even if it might have been uncomfortable for James himself. "But there is no need to worry. I won't be in here often. Promise." He crossed his heart solemnly, before offering his hand once more. For the first time, Reve realized that he was still dressed in his regualr clothes that he had fallen asleep in. Perhaps he would change them later, but at the moment getting out of James's head, so to speak, was the priority.

"It's startling, so it's best to hold on to my, I think." Reve began to explain."So don't feel alarmed if you feel very cold, or shell-shocked. It's very much like passing through a waterfall, and all natural, I assure you."